


I am also a We

by angeen



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, Don't Have to Know Sense8 Canon, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Other: See Story Notes, Slow To Update, lots of love, non-binary characters, only tagged the endgame pairings but don't pay too much attention to them, they all just love each other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeen/pseuds/angeen
Summary: "What is human? An ability to reason? To imagine? To love or grieve? If so, we are more human than any human ever will be."(Sense8!AU)





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> (this is going to be long bc I'm a talkative lil shit, bear with me)  
> This was directly inspired by my love for both Sense8 and Seventeen and by the first three DWC teasers, further fuelled by Lou, to whom I dedicate this fic because we were intellectuals back then. You don't have to know the Sense8 series to read this, but I deeply encourage you to go and watch it because this is the best TV shows that was ever created, it is full of love and warmth and this is what we deserve. The title and summary are quotes from the show.  
> I don't know how long this is going to be, I don't know how long I will take to write each part --probably about one or two months, because I'm a slow sloth. I'm very passionate about this AU, and I'm going to try very hard to be proud of it once it is finished.  
> Thank you to Raine, who found a name for Joshua's cat, and who kicked my ass multiple times into writing alongside them.  
> Thank you to Ci, always, you've been helping me so much with everything I try to write during all those years; I'm so lucky to have you.
> 
> I'll be adding tags and/or notes with TWs when needed so pay attention to those please. I haven't been to all of the cities I am setting this story in, and while I am trying to do some research, I may depict them in some inacurate ways, so I do apologize for any unrealistic features they may appear with.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Swearing  
> Weed, alcohol consumption (not major to the plot, but there are people who are high/drunk at some point in this)
> 
> Please enjoy your reading !

   
**Glasgow**  
   
The smells of gasoline are still clogging Seungcheol’s nose when he starts to rev up his bike, but he is so used to it that his mind only revels in the comfortable odour. The familiar throb of his Harley has him sighing in contentment – the sound of the end of a good day, the start of a nice night, without doubt. Putting on his jacket, Seungcheol glances one last time at the garage, out of habit. He stretches and sits on his bike, searching his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. The reassuring feeling of the motorcycle underneath his thighs and the sweet flicker of his lighter help ease the terrible headache hammering his brain since early this morning, and he exhales, smiling.  
Crushing the remains of the cigarette under the sole of his boot, he sends a quick text to his friend’s groupchat to tell them he is on his way. He knows they're waiting for him, they are meeting at the very same bar every night of the week. He winces when he lowers the helmet on his face: the headache is back. Well, he guesses he only has to go and try to drown it with beer, then. An inexplicable bubble of laughter finds its way to his lips, quickly dissolving into the air, leaving him confused – sure, it is a nice evening, but nothing to be that happy about. He shrugs off the moment and climbs on his bike then sets off to the pub.  
The streets of Glasgow at 6 at night are still gloomy with the remnants of winter. It is too cold to rain yet, but the streets are grey as ever and the wind slithers into Seungcheol’s jacket. The bike hums its way through the familiar path through the city while its driver lets his eyes dart mindlessly over the dark buildings. He knows each bump, each default of the road, every sway he has to take to avoid the potholes, at which crossroad he has to look out for cars and which streets are always deserted, how the dull sunlight reflects the duller pavement and-

“Oh what- fuck !”

The tires screech loudly and the noise caused by Seungcheol’s sudden swerve of the bike echoes in the narrow street. He struggles to correct his trajectory into the right direction again, curses under his breath as he comes to a halt, then looks back at the alley.

“What the ...” He whispers, flabbergasted.

Seungcheol arrives at the bar five minutes later than usual, which is quite unsettling; his unofficially reserved parking spot is already taken, which unsettles him some more. He frowns as he drives his bike in a spot a bit farther; and this damn headache continues to pound into his skull. when he opens the bar door, he is greeted by the boisterous laughter of his friends, the loud chatter and clangs of pint glasses, and the overwhelming noise is enough to ease the tension off his shoulders. He nods to the bartender, who gestures to a glass in front of him, filled to the brim and waiting patiently for him. Welcome home, it seems to say. He grabs the beverage then makes his way to his usual table to salute his five drinking mates with a goofy grin.

“Heeey Seungcheol, we were starting to wonder if you’d show up, pal !” Matthew hollers, hair sticking up in messy cowlicks.

His companions all shout in agreement, greeting Seungcheol with handshakes and taps on the shoulder, then scout over to let him sit beside them.

“Yeah, I know !” The biker answers with a voice already rising with the excitement of the night to come. “Some weird shit happened when I was on my way, got me late.”

The guys encourage him to continue with too much enthusiasm for glasses this full, but Seungcheol smirks anyways.

“Well, I was on my bike, near the train station you know, minding my own business, taking the usual route when bam, this chick appears out of nowhere, and she’s in the middle of the road !”

His public cries out in surprise, and he suppresses a fond chuckle before resuming his story-telling.

“So like, I take a swerve, then I stop my bike so I can teach her some rules like don’t go in the middle of the fucking road, but when I turn around ... The girl’s gone, no trace of her !”

Seungcheol takes a gulp of his beer to emphasize his disbelief while his friends gasp and guffaw obnoxiously. One of them clasps his hand against his shoulder, asking him with mirth:

“What a bummer, was she hot ?”

“Dunno” Seungcheol answers, shrugging. “Couldn’t take a good look at her, I think she had glasses and brown hair or something, was wearing a weird dress with a shit ton of colours, kinda hurt my eyes.”

It triggers another fit of hilarity at their table, and Seungcheol joins them before drinking. He laughs, letting his friends take over the conversation and slips slowly into the comfortability of the setting, the unceasing pounding in his head gradually numbing.

It’s only many hours, many pints and many pool games later that another unusual feat comes to disturb his evening: he is coming back from the toilets, swaying his way through the room, when he feels something wet running down his right cheek. He stops dead in his track, rocks back and forth a little, then steadies himself with a hand on the bar, the other coming to palm his face. It is definitely wet, and his vision is fucking blurry – and apparently, it is not only due to the alcohol. He sniffles, feels more snot and tears dripping down his jaw and honestly, he hasn’t cried in years, if not a decade, so,  
What the actual fuck.

**Tokyo**

“Hey, Seungkwan.”

Sniffles.

“Seungkwan ?”

More sniffles.

“Oh my god Seungkwan, are you crying again ?”

Seungkwan flails on the couch, kicking the blanket he was hugging off on the floor, before turning a wet, offended eye to his roommate.

“But he finally did it, Chan ! Frodo finally managed to get home !” He wails, sniffing some more for good measure.

Chan tries not to laugh at his friend’s bloated eyes, worsened by the bright light of the ending credits. He switches on the lights of the living-room, accompanied by the sound of Seungkwan blowing his nose.

“Where were you anyways ?” Seungkwan asks wetly, scouting over on the couch to make some room. “It’s past 2am.”

“Had to finish some coding for Mr Tôshiro,” Chan sighs, coming to slumps on his friend’s side. “He would’ve flipped if these weren’t done by tomorrow morning.”

Seungkwan tuts as his hand rises to thread through the other boy’s wet black hair. It must be raining.

“He’s going to get you killed before the end of this internship, Chan. He can’t just have you do the dirty work on demand like that, we’re not supposed to be cheap workforce.”

“I know, but what can I do ?” Chan answers, his eyes blank and tired. “I need these codes to work on the robot anyways, and if I don’t do it, nobody’s going to do it.”

The two boys stay in a comfortable silence for a while, revelling in each other’s tired presence. Chan lets his eyes rest a bit, lets them wanderin their tiny living-room with the old-fashioned wallpaper, the small windows that get frozen at the edge when it is too cold, their open kitchenette with the antique oven and the two out of four working hotplates. It’s not much, but it’s all they could afford as two students doing an internship abroad in Tokyo. Gently, Seungkwan’s fingers curl on his nape, caressing the short hair there and Chan thinks that it’s good enough, anyways.

“Oh, by the way, do we have a new neighbour in the building ?” Seungkwan asks suddenly.

“Dunno, don’t think so.” Chan answers sleepily, his eyes closing.

“Okay, weird, because I saw this girl in the stairs when I was coming home and I didn’t know her at all, so I was wondering if you’ve met her before. Black girl, dreadlocks, a pair of glasses, and an eye-soring sense of fashion ?”

Chan hums quietly, nuzzling his head further on Seungkwan's shoulder.

“Huh, thought so.” Seungkwan continues. “But it’s so weird, she was looking right at me, like I was supposed to tell her something ? Really angsty, if you ask me, she stared at me from the bottom of the stairs then I looked away for a minute and then she was gone. Weird, super weird. I’ve had a killer headache ever since, but that’s maybe because I cried too much, too. ”

Chan hums again, his head falling slightly from Seungkwan’s shoulder. His friend gives his hair a small smile, then pushes him off to get up from the couch.

“Okay, what about some hot chocolate before we go to bed ? I’m taking the couch tonight.” He offers, shaking his light blond locks away from his eyes. He really should stop dyeing his hair before they just fall from his head one day.

Chan yawns, then nods contently before registering his friend’s words. He turns towards him and frowns.

“But it was my turn today.”

Seungkwan shushes him, quickly, making his way towards the stove.

“You’re exhausted and I’m not going to the lab tomorrow morning, you need to sleep more comfortably than I do.” He gives Chan a smile over his shoulder. “Bless you !”

“Hum, I didn’t sneeze.”

**Stockholm**

Jihoon grumbles, reaching again for the tissues propped on top of his keyboard. Fucking Scandinavia, he spends about seventy percent of his time in his studio and still he manages to catch a huge-ass cold in the span of the ten minutes it takes him to walk through the streets lined with snow to his apartment. To be fair, he probably shouldn’t be coming home in the midst of the night when the temperature is close to freezing his brain cells, but whatever. He blows his nose, sighs, then comes back to his computer screen, but his cold apparently got worse because now he has the hugest headache ever and it makes his vision so blurry he can’t even make out the lines of his editing software. Fuck. This track is due in three days and it still doesn’t feel right, he’s been stuck on it for days now and it’s infuriating.  
He groans, removes his cap to card his fingers through his black hair, and then presses them to his closed eyelids. He can’t afford pushing back the final editing of the song again especially as the team – subtitles: he and Bumzu – has got a shit-ton of other projects to deal with in the coming months. However, his head feels like it’s going to explode and he guesses it is very unlikely the spark of inspiration will come to get him any time soon.  
He sighs again, opens his eyes to save his work in progress and turn off the computer, when a movement in the corner of the dimly lit room catches his pupils. He turns on his seat, suspicious then gapes.

“What the-.”

There’s a woman behind the glass door – no, there’s a woman inside the glass door. Her reflection is as clear as she was standing next to him but she’s not here. Her dress is illuminating the studio with colours, and she is looking at him with a little smirk like she is laughing at how freaked out he looks. Her eyes behind her glasses are mischievous, and she waves lightly at him.  Jihoon is still struck dumb when she suddenly disappears from the door. Jihoon blinks, then sneezes again.

“Huh.”

He stares at the door for a good three minutes before deciding he really needs fresh – freezing – air because he is starting to freaking hallucinate from the fever. He shuts down the computer, numb, grabs his cap, his laptop, and snatches his gigantic winter jacket that reaches his ankles, the one stuffed with goose feathers he brought on his first week here all those months ago, the warmest he could find in the city but that is still not warm enough to make him not feel like he is plunged in a bucket of ice after thirty seconds spent outside because the weather in this freaking country HE SWEARS. He locks the studio, getting stares from the few remaining persons in the studio – it is unusually early for him to come out, only past 7, actually. Jihoon doesn’t care, and makes a beeline for the exit; they probably don’t even know who he is, this too-young-looking Asian dude who can only speak broken English.

The biting air outside feels like a slap to his cheeks, the only part of him still reachable, all bundled up that he is in his coat, but it has the advantage to make him forget his headache for a while. He starts shuffling along the deserted street of Stockholm towards his apartment.  
Someone is apparently throwing a party somewhere nearby because Jihoon can almost feel the beat of the deep bass of house music vibrating through his feet, which is quite incredible considering they are slowly numbing into two ice cubs. He raises his head to make out the source of the sound. Their windows must be open for the music to be this loud in the streets, those fools.  
The street looks calm, despite the pounding of the club music, except from a slender silhouette a few meters ahead of him. The person looks like they are not wearing any kind of coat nor scarf – actually, they appear to be only wearing a thin tank top, a flannel shirt tied to the hips. Jihoon scoffs with cold indignation. The unknown by-passer – woman ? Man ? Honestly Jihoon can’t tell – has blonde hair reaching below the shoulders. Their eyes, heavily lined with make-up flutter confusedly – prettily – at Jihoon when he walks past awkwardly, shivering, the bass pounding its way to his ribcage.

**Seoul**

Jeonghan has seen weird people hanging out in this club before, but they can’t help but frown when a small clump ofwinter coat walks past them in the middle of the dance-floor. The bundle throws them an odd look from a tiny overture that lets make out scrutinizing eyes and red cheeks, as if Jeonghan is the one who is in a place they shouldn’t be. Jeonghan doesn’t feel like asking questions, tonight, though, so they just let the apparition continue its way amongst the dancers. For a moment, the club feels like it is -10°C, the permanent heat from the dancing bodies and alcohol suddenly gone, and an eerie silence resonates in their ears; Jeonghan shivers violently, then the sensation disappears just as quickly as it came before the deafening beat of the music takes overagain.  
Jeonghan sways a little, stunned by the hammering of a headache that wasn’t here before – maybe they drank more tonight than what they thought – then catches a glimpse of their friend waving from a corner of the club. Jeonghan makes their way through the crowd, nodding to some other regulars, before they stumble upon yet another weird silhouette – and the song is not even finished yet.  
The appearance of this one is far less unusual for the club: a colourful dress, round glasses, although black people are still a rare sight in most parts of Seoul. What freaks Jeonghan out, though, is that the clubber is looking right back at them, as if the crowd has parted just so that the person – she, most probably, but Jeonghan doesn’t want to assume, especially in this type of places – could stare directly at them. Jeonghan gives the dancer an incredulous look, because hey, it is rude to stare, but the other just smiles brightly, like the two of them share a secret of some kind, then disappears between other partygoers. Jeonghan huffs and joins their friend who is nursing a mojito, her back propped against the wall. She squints at them as they steal her drink, until she laughs airily a few seconds later. Jeonghan sulks, sipping on the straw before handing it back to her and reaching for their back pocket for a cigarette.

“This DJ’s great !” Hyejin hollers in Jeonghan’s ear while they lit one, head bent.

Jeonghan takes the time to take several drags, watching the smoke scatter before nodding and bending to her ear.

“Definitely better than the one who played Eureka twice last weekend.”

She laughs, although Jeonghan sees it more than they hear it. They take her drink again for a gulp or three, their body swaying to the Jack Ü song that just came on. Jeonghan lets the airiness get to their head for a bit, contented. The night is still young, it is barely 2:30am but the club is already bustling, the floor already littered with cigarette butts, the bar with empty glasses. They indulge in some people-watching, shoulders and hips moving carelessly to the rhythm. Jeonghan smirks and bends down to her ear again.

“There are a lot of new faces tonight by the way. More than usual.” They rasp, and Hyejin hums, probably. 

“Weird ones, too.”

She throws them a questioning look, the one that looks haughty to people who don’t really know her, and Jeonghan gestures to the crowd.

“Like, that one over there. Looks way too pristine and lost to enter this kind of club willingly, or at least while fully knowing the kind of people usually going here.”

“Thought you were not into assuming things about people ?” Hyejin answers while scanning the crowd, her words slurred in their ear. “I don’t see who you’re talking about, though.”

Jeonghan rolls their eyes at her and dumps the butt of their cigarette on the floor.

“It’s not assuming stuff when the person looks like they’re on the verge of a panic attack.” They indicate ahead of them with a gesture of the head. “Right there, the one with the cat mouth and that white shirt that looks way too nice.”

Hyejin’s eyebrows shoot up while she digs her terrifyingly long fingernails into Jeonghan’s arm.

“I’m not seeing shit, Yoon Jeonghan. Give me back my drink, you lightweight.”

**Los Angeles**

Joshua startles awake way too early, feeling way too hungover for the single beer he had been nursing last night. When did his mouth start tasting like mint ? He tries to get up, groggy. He groans and looks around, his vision blurry with a heavy cloud of smoke and his ears buzzing with a violent pounding. He blinks and his head clears a bit, though the headache does not seem to be ready to leave any time soon. He sighs and flops down on the bed again.  
His self-indulging laziness is very soon disturbed by a scratching sound at his door. Joshua closes his eyes, trying to ignore the incessant meowing, muffled by the wood but not enough to allow him to go back to sleep without feeling like a terrible human being. The cries get more insisting, the scratches louder, and only the thought that the door is fairly recent and has managed to stay so far spotless prompts Joshua to get out of bed, shivering against the cold of his room, to go and open the door.  
He doesn't bother looking outside and just stumbles back on his bed, his head deep in his blankets in a feeble attempt to drown the hammering in his brain; he hears more than he feels the dip of his bed, but he sure is aware of the paws that hop on his back, a weight settling comfortably along his spine, claws digging softly in his shoulder blades. He humpfs and stays like this, until the digging reaches through his shirt and starts to be painful. He yelps, turning on his back. The beast scrambles off his back and meows at him reproachfully. Joshua chuckles and extends a hand to offer a scratch. Of course, the cat sniffs his fingers with disdain before coming to settle on his chest. At least the warmth on his ribcage offers a nice distraction to his dizzy state.

"Hello, Princess." He muses.

His throat sounds like he has smoked twenty cigarettes during the night, which he is pretty positive he did not. He frowns at his pet, which meows at him in response, then lets his head flop down again, lifting his hand to scratch behind her ears. The loud purring that triggers starts resonating through his whole ribcage.  
His eyes close again while Princess licks slowly at his fingers, and he nearly falls asleep again to the familiar sound. Princess, though, is quick to remind him to his duties and hops off his chest to come and meow loudly in his ear. Joshua startles again while the cat scurries off, sitting pointedly in front of his door. He groans, sitting up, and ruffles his hair.

"I'm coming." He mumbles, going for the nearest pair of socks lying next to his bed.

Joshua finally gets up from his bed, stretches then follows his cat to the kitchen. It takes him the time to pour some cat food in Princess’s bowl, the pet purring around his feet, to fill the kettle with water and setting it to boil then to turn to reach for some headache medicine on the counter to realise that there is someone in the kitchen.  
Joshua freezes, one hand already half on its way to grab a glass of water in the sink and the other one trying to open the coffee pot – he tends to multitask a lot, with more or less success. The girl is smiling at him from where she is leaning on the fridge, one hand nonchalantly pressed on her hip, like she has been observing him for a while already. Joshua just stares at her, flabbergasted.

“Hi, Josh.” She says with a playful glint in her dark eyes.

Her voice is deep and joyful. She sounds like she is delighted to talk to him. It takes him a few seconds to blink out of his stupor ans to answer, hesitant.

"Huh, hi ?"

His voice is still raspy, and he clears his throat before continuing.

"Are you a friend of Steven's ?"

It would be the most plausible explanation, for her to be a friend of his flatmate’s, as Joshua is pretty certain he doesn't know her from anywhere, and he has no idea how she knows his name. Admittedly, it would still be quite surprising if she was Steven’s friend, as the guy, a third-year just like him, is barely ever at home -- Joshua is not even sure they spent more than a few hours at the same time in the apartment. He suddenly remembers that his hands were both on a mission, and he goes finally to grab the glass he was looking for. The girl giggles, and he glances questioningly at her.

“Not really, no. I'm not here for long, anyways, I was just passing.”

Now Joshua is completely confused.  
"Passing ?" He parrots back, feeling more and more lost by the second.

The water is done boiling in the kettle, and he should set up a filter and some coffee on the pot before it gets cold again, but his hands are still, and his eyes can't seem to look away from the girl. She feels familiar, awfully so, even if Joshua swears he has never seen her before. The girl straightens up her position with a grin that shows her teeth, and bends down quickly to give a scratch at Princess between them.

"Yeah, I just wanted to talk to one of you for once." She answers happily, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. "Guess you're the lucky one !"

"One of us ? What ?" Joshua asks, perplexed, as she stands up again and skips away from the fridge.

She waves at him, and walks to the kitchen door, grinning at him one last time above her shoulder.

"Don’t worry, we'll see each other again soon enough. Bye !"

"B-bye" Joshua repeats, then shakes his head. "Wait, will we ? Wait !"

He dashes to the door frame and looks out in the corridor but sees nobody. She is gone, and he didn't even hear the front door open.  
He returns to the kitchen, shaken, and numbly pours himself a glass of water that he downs immediately. Then he remembers that he had a pill to take to soothe his headache that has somehow gotten worse, so he refills his glass to swallow the medicine. Princess meows again, and Joshua nods slowly at her, agreeing.  
He takes out a paper filter from the cupboard, and starts setting up a pot with coffee grounds. He grabs the kettle then and starts pouring, listening to the slow dripping of the liquid in the pot. The sound is familiar, the task automatic, and it settles down his brain, still foggy from the headache and the apparent hangover, which he still cannot explain.  
Joshua could come up with plausible explanations, like Steven letting weird friends crash at their apartment – he doesn't even know if Steven could be the type to have weird friends, to be fair– , or him having forgotten to close his door last night and that girl getting into the wrong apartment, maybe still drunk, maybe; in any case, Joshua chooses to forget what just happened. He's too tired, too stunned, and his headache is still too strong to try and battle for rationality and honestly, he doesn't really care. He is just suddenly really sleepy again, and he wants to go back to bed right away. It is nearing 10 am, but he might just do that, because it is Saturday, for god’s sake.  
Princess bumps her head against his ankles, and he hums lowly, closing his eyes.

**Hong Kong**

Soonyoung's ragged breath sounds so loud, amplified by the emptiness of the theatre room, and he winces a bit at the noise while sweeping the sweat out of his eyelids. He bends, hands on his knees, droplets falling from his forehead on the ground. Eventually, he lets himself fall fully on the stage, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs he feels it pulsing all the way to his fingertips. His shirt is sticking to his skin in a way he is so used to he forgets that it is kind of gross. His head feels like it is weighing six tons, but he is also used to that. He is so fucking tired, he could fall asleep right there. He allows himself a few more minutes of loitering on the floor, eyes fixed on the railing and spotlights way up above him.  
A loud noise suddenly reverberates inthe hall, making Soonyoung startle with a cry. He sits up, squints at the darkness of the theatre; he thinks he spots a blur of colours in the middle of the very last row, but the hall is so large and so faintly lit he could never be sure.

"Hello ?" He tries in Korean, then remembers where he is, and repeats in a wobbly Chinese.

Nobody answers, although Soonyoung is pretty sure he hears a faint giggling out there. Now he is starting to get spooked out. He calls out again, getting closer to the edge of the stage but not too close because it is 3 am and he is in an empty theatre room. There is definitely someone lurking in the back row, a someone who seems very amused by his hesitant voice.

“Hey ! I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to be there at this time.” He shouts in the direction of the colour patch, attempts to talk Chinese be damned and more bravado in his voice than he actually has.

More giggling ensues, and the sound of a theatre seat jiggling shut reverberates in the room. Ghosts don’t make noises, Soonyoung reasons, so it is definitely someone human, but the thought does not comfort him in any way. He forces himself to come down from the stage, because he should investigate in the case a trespasser has manage to break into the facility. His legs are a bit shaky, and he has to admit he can’t blame it all on the dance from earlier. He can’t see shit, and Soonyoung might be a tiny tiny bit scared. He opens his mouth again to shout something a bit more vehement to the intruder but is promptly interrupted:

“Looking good, Kwon Soonyoung !” A voice hollers, and it sounds both creepy and nice and who the fuck is this.

Soonyoung’s legs wobble as he prudently starts making his way along the first rows.

“Uh, thanks ?”

It all seems so surreal, his heart is beating so fast in his chest as he approaches the silhouette. Its shape is getting clearer as he moves towards it, and the voice is giggling again and it would probably be a nice giggling in another context but right now it is freaking the shit out of him and-  
Suddenly, he patch of colours disappears and a second later, the theatre lights turn on. At the same time, a door opens at the back of the room and Soonyoung lets out a short scream andshuts his eyes, shielding his face with his arms.

“Hey ! What are you doing here ?” Someone cries out in a rapid Chinese, and Soonyoung opens his eyes, confused, because that’s not the voice who was checking him out earlier, but also because he perfectly understood what the guy now walking down towards him just asked, when he usually can’t speak Chinese for the life of him.

Soonyoung unfolds himself a little from his instinctive position of defence, but not too much. He eyes the newcomer descending towards him, nearly expecting him to start the giggling too. The stranger gets close enough for Soonyoung to realise that it is definitely not the person from earlier: the dude looks around his age, his face all sharp with angles, piercing eyes and pierced ears, wafts of wavy brown hair poking out from a black beanie. The dancer in Soonyoung also can’t help but note that the guy’s legs seem to know no end – and neither does the rest of his body, apparently.

“Why are you here ? Who are you ?” The man asks again, this time in English, with a slight accent. Soonyoung is so relieved they could find some common language grounds that he forgets to be miffed to be so easily spotted as a complete foreigner.

“Hello to you too, you scared the shit out of me.” He says in lieu of an introduction because his goddamn legs won’t stop shaking.

The guy eyes him curiously.

“I’m Kwon Soonyoung.” Soonyoung offers. “I’m, huh, part of the dance crew for the Musical troupe.”

The other hums, blatantly letting his eyes rake all the way down then up his body. Soonyoung gradually becomes acutely conscious of the fact that his black hair is plastered in stacks on his forehead, and that his face and neck are probably streaked with several small rivers of sweat. The guy hums again, low, then offers him half a smirk, which is good enough of a friendly signal.

“I’m Xu Minghao.” He says, toning down the Chinese pronunciation in a manner that tells Soonyoung he has met a lot of clueless foreigners before. “I work as an intern with the light and sound engineers team.”

Minghao extends a hand towards him, and Soonyoung shakes it weakly, partly embarrassed by the fact that his fingers are almost engulfed completely by Minghao’s giant hand and by the gross sweatiness of his own palms. Although he also considers it as a tiny vengeance for freaking him out like that.  
Soonyoung nods and offers a small grin, before shuffling awkwardly. He is usually good with people, but the eerie atmosphere of the empty theatre hall so late at night and the headache brought by the tiredness are messing with his abilities. Talking about eerie – 

“Hum, is there usually that many people in the building at this hour ? I mean,” He adds when Minghao looks at him questioningly “There was definitely someone here earlier but I don’t know where they went. It was kind of creepy.”

Minghao stares at him for a few seconds like he is judging, very hard – he seems to be doing that a lot and they have met literally five minutes ago.

“Nobody else is there. Actually, I was surprised to see you, I was doing a last check-up before closing down.”

Soonyoung makes a noise that he hopes conveys his disbelief but not too much of his unease. He glances at the spot in the middle of the back row where the person had been standing and suppresses a shiver before looking back at Minghao, who is squinting at him. He clears his throat again, and decides to save the freaking out part for later. He is way too tired to deal with this right now.

“Hum, I was finished here, actually.” He says, dropping the subject. “It’s pretty late, I should probably go home.”

Minghao nods, sparing a glance at the watch on hiswrist. Soonyoung turns back to where he has dropped off his bag earlier, grabs a towel and quickly wipes out the cooling sweat from his face. He hears Minghao speak up behind him.

“Yeah it’s pretty late. If you need I can drop you off somewhere, I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Soonyoung turns towards him, surprised. He wouldn’t have pegged carefully detached, judgy-looking Minghao the type to offer a ride to a complete stranger – technically colleagues, but still. Minghao looks both casual and sheepish, which makes Soonyoung grin.

“Nah, I’m okay. I have a bike.”

Minghao nods Soonyoung turns and begins packing his stuff on his sports bag, just as Minghao pulls out his phone from his pocket. The guy is still typing away when Soonyoung turns again, and the dancer meanders awkwardly for a few seconds, wincing at his headache.

“It’s shorter if you take that side exit.” Minghao hails him as he starts to make his way towards the main entrance of the room.

Soonyoung lets out a “oh, right” and thanks him. He throws a tired “See you around” to Minghao as he walks past him, who looks up to smile softly and waves – Soonyoung would not have pegged him the waving type either.  
Soonyoung is okay with that, though; he is too exhausted to exceed in politeness, and he is still a bit lot freaked out by the giggling colour patch from earlier that he is trying to forget. As he pushes the door open, he hears in the distance a muted sound, a sort of alarm that would be shrilling his head if it weren’t so distant. He yawns, then steps out in the cold night.

**Paris**

The sound of the beep announcing the metro door closing barely seeps to Wonwoo’s ears through his headphones – it is not like he even really registers the noise anymore, in all honesty. He turns his head towards the front window of the train, waiting for it to start its journey again.  
He really likes to sit at the extremities in this metro line, because the large panes show the tunnel appearing slowly in front of the train making its way to the next station; he likes the unexpected turns, the steadiness of the rails and observing the growing lights of the incomming stations. The little girl sitting right across him has her head turned forward too, fascinated by the dark tunnel advancing in front of them. He smiles softly to himself and goes back to his contemplation of the obscurity, contented; his head hurts from the two hours he spent in the cinema, but other than that, it was a very good day, and the metro is not even that busy for the hour.  
The song in his ears changes and he is about to skip to another artist, when another train coming from the other direction enters his line of sight, and he stills, keeping his head up. It is his favourite part of riding this line: the darkness blurs perspectives and distances, and you always kind of feel like the opposite train is driving right into you when you come across. Wonwoo stares at the approaching carriage, slowly growing in the darkness, detailing the people he can see aboard, all those unhappy faces coming home from work, bundled up in raincoats and carrying umbrellas and briefcases and – huh, there is a girl staring right at him.  
Wonwoo blinks, diverting his eyes quickly to another direction, because that is what people do in the metro when they are caught staring, but when his eyes comes back to the girl in a sundress (a sundress ! At this time of the year !), she is still gawking at him, smiling wide, and Wonwoo can just stare, flabbergasted. Right before their trains pass each other, she even lifts her arm above her head to wave enthusiastically at him – yet no one in her carriage glares at her as would be expected. He does not even have the time to respond with a gesture of his own, as the other train vanishes from his sight Huh.

The voice announces gently the end of the line as they enter the next station, and Wonwoo shuffles out of the train onto the platform, following automatically the crowd up the stairs, slightly stunned. The cold air outside hits him and he quickly takes out his scarf out of his bag. The end of winter is no fun, really, all rain showers and grey sunlight seeping through the clouds and pollution. He likes colder temperatures much more, when it is nearing zero degrees but the sun is shining brightly and the sky is blue – or at least as blue as the sky in Paris can be. Wonwoo starts to make his way towards his appartment complex, pulling out his phone, tapping a few numbers and connecting it to his headphones while it rings.

“Well that’s unusual.”

Mingyu’s soft voice resonates in his ears, his sentence punctuated by a slight chuckle that pulls at Wonwoo’s mouth.

“What, I can’t call my best friend now ?” He answers, feigning being offended, then adds. “I was just feeling like it.”

Mingyu hums, dubious, the sound creating slight static on the line.

“I saw a weird girl in the metro today.” Wonwoo starts. “I’m not sure she was really in the metro, actually.”

“Weird, like the ghost cat you swear was living in my old apartment ?” Mingyu answers right away, sounding like he is smirking already – Wonwoo knows he is.

“Fuck you, you saw it too !” He protests, offended but with no real heat.

That day, Mingyu had texted him, way too ecstatic to care about typos or the decent number of exclamation points, telling him he had seen the cat strolling around his tiny living room and hopping on the window sill before disappearing.

“It really was odd.” Wonwoo explains, ignoring Mingyu’s sniggers. “She was, like, staring at me like she knew me, a big grin on her face and all. I’m pretty sure I never saw her in my life.”

“Hum, maybe she came to the coffee shop one day ? And she recognized you ?”

Wonwoo stays silent for a moment, considering the eventuality.

“I mean, I’m not saying you’re wrong or anything, dude,” Mingyu continues with a careful tone. “Just, you always get kind of weird after your hypnotherapy thingy sessions. Maybe it was just that messing with your brain.”

Wonwoo scrunches up his nose in a semi-successful attempt to push his glasses up without taking his hands out of his jacket pockets.

“It never gave me hallucinations, though.” He counters. “But maybe you’re right. She was just so weird, waving at me, maybe it just spooked me out too much.”

“There’re plenty of weird people in the metro.” Mingyu offers, and Wonwoo snorts before agreeing. “So, how was the movie ? Did you like it ?” He asks, keyboard typing sounds resonating in the background.

“’t was interesting. Lots of stuff in it, lots of ideas.”

“But did you like it ?” His friend asks again, with both fondness and exasperation.

“Not sure. It was a bit too grandiloquent for me, I think.” Wonwoo answers, and Mingyu laughs.

“Dude, how high are you to use words like grandiloquent right now ?”

Wonwoo snorts, rolling his eyes and wishes he could punch Mingyu in the shoulder at this exact moment.

“Shut up, asshole, I'm fine. Just using proper vocabulary." Mingyu laughs in his ear, and he smiles, before adding as an afterthought. "I do have a massive headache, though.”

**Toronto**

"Why are you smiling ?" Sarah asks from where she is curled up at the end of the bed, head nested in an oversized hoodie that has probably been living on the floor for two weeks.

Hansol blinks slowly and looks at her, craning his neck from where it is semi-comfortably propped on a pillow serving as a back rest.

"Dunno." He answers, shrugging. "Was feeling like it."

She smiles softly at him, then decides to bury her nose in her makeshift pillow, her newly-bleached locks cascading on her face till only the tip of her chin remains. Cute.  
Hansol smiles back at her, way too belatedly, and tries to adjust his position to avoid a permanent crick in his neck. As he shifts, he suddenly feels exceptionally warm, the kind of nice warm you get when you bundle up in a scarf in winter. The sensation is definitely weird, but it is nice, and he is kind of too far gone to really question it.  
He comes back to his contented contemplation of his room, the bright light of the beginning of the afternoon drawing squares on the worn-out carpet. Time fades slowly, or quickly, he doesn't know, really. It must not be more than a few minutes, though, because when the thought occurs to Hansol and he starts talking again, Sarah groans slightly, letting him know that she is listening, but that she would much rather prefer go back to napping.

"Hey, d'you think it'd be, like, possible to be, like ... connected to other people on the planet ?"

"Like ... with the internet ?" Sarah mumbles, her words half muffled by the sweater, by sleep and probably the weed too.

"Nah, like. Mentally. Or something. Like telepathy."

She snorts loudly, bordering on full-blown laughter, and Hansol is pretty sure she is leaving spit on his hoodie.

"Dude." She laughs without lifting her head. "How high are you right now ?"

Hansol scrunches his nose, and the movement feels way harder to do than it should.

"Not much. A bit. I think. "

Sarah doesn't say anything, just brings her hands up to part her hair from the side of her face so he can only see her right eyebrow raising, very much unimpressed. He laughs and lifts his leg with difficulty to kick her half-heartedly on the shins, to which she hisses jokingly before going back to her balled-up position.  
He closes his eyes too, enjoying the silence only broken by Sarah's deepening breaths and the occasional sound from people chatting outside. He is in the midst of considering joining his friend in a proper rest, when a shiver crawls up the skin of his arms, and he is suddenly feels like he is scrutinized. He opens his eyes abruptly and instead of Sarah observing him cheekily, he finds himself staring right back at a girl he honest to god never saw in his life yet feels like he somehow did.  
She's sat on his bed a few centimetres away from Sarah's head like she has been there for the whole time and longer. She smiles brightly at him, her cheekbones meeting the bottom of herglasses, and her smile resembles the square patches of sunlight on his carpet, and just, what.

"Wow." Hansol lets out. "I'm way more high than what I thought."

The girl giggles, like his reaction is funnier than what she was expecting, and she waves at him. Hansol's eyes follow the gesture, stunned, and she starts laughing even harder.

"Huh, no offence, but" Hansol starts, still impressed at his own abilities at not freaking out in a definitely freaky situation. "Who are you ?"

The girl's laughter calms down, and she wiggles, almost eager, tucking a dreadlock behind her ear. The lock falls back on her face immediately, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Okay, this is going to be a bit long." She starts, expression earnest and Hansol cannot take his eyes away from hers as she continues because they feel so oddly comforting. "Also it's the first time I'm doing this, so I don't know if my timing's right. The person who birthed my cluster kind of didn't go through the whole explanation process so, I don't know how you'll handle it. I'm glad you're the first, though."

She tells him all that, as if he is supposed to nod, as if the words she is saying are supposed to make sense in a context where a stranger appears out of nowhere in a student dorm room. Hansol thinks he just emits an indistinct sound. He just doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

"Okay, so, Hansol, long story short ..." She starts, pausing for effect, as if it was needed. "You're a sensate."

"I'm a what ?" Hansol says dumbly, and it all feels very Harry Potter-y, except  an older and much less nerdy-looking version. At least he hopes.

"A sensate !" She exclaims enthusiastically, and Hansol glances at Sarah but the girl doesn't even stir. "I'm not expecting you to know what it is, actually, but, you know, effect."

She shares a self-exasperated smile with him, and Hansol gets that but it is also starting to be slightly annoyed -- and he almost never gets annoyed, so that's odd. The girl's grin turns into a grimace and she mutters, wringing her hands.

"Gosh, I really have to work on that part. Sorry, I'm a bit overexcited."

She sighs and gathers some locks in her hands to play with them. Hansol is slowly trying to come to terms with the fact that deep down, he knows that this is not the product of an hallucination-inducing bad trip. He glances at Sarah, still sleeping soundly.

"She won't wake up." The girl supplies. "She doesn't hear me. Because I'm not ... I'm not really here. Or I am, but only for you."

"What."

"My name's Aminata. I'm from Senegal. I am in Senegal right now, in fact."

"What."

Hansol feels like it is the only thing he is going to be able to say for a long time.

"You have a headache, right ?" The girl asks, and he nods numbly. "That's going to last for a few days. Then, you'll start to feel weird stuff. Rain in a sunny day, sadness when you are happy, pain, pleasure, anger, out of the blue, stuff like that. Even later, you'll start to find yourself in places you've never been, see people you have never seen before, yet feel like you share something. Like how you're feeling about me right now."

She waves her hand vaguely in the air as if the gesture makes it all clearer, then plants her eyes in his, suddenly serious.

"That what means being reborn a sensate. There are eight other persons throughout the world who are undergoing the same experience as you are, right now. Those are the members of your cluster, the people with who you will share emotions, sensations, knowledge. The cluster I just gave birth to."

She quiets down, her gaze still stuck on his, giving him silence and time to digest what she just said. Hansol's head hurts, yet his thoughts are completely clear. He swallows, once, twice, then opens his mouth slowly.

"So you're like, what, my mother ?"

Great. This is the first intelligible thing Hansol manages to say, and he chooses to ask the dumbest question about all of this mess. Aminata bursts out in giggles before answering.

"I'm really glad I chose you as the first one. And, hum, I guess, technically ?"

Hansol grins, a bit bewildered.

"But wait, what do you mean you're in Senegal right now ?" He asks, frowning.

Aminata's face lights up and she claps her hands together; Hansol steals a glance to Sarah but no, she doesn't seem bothered at all in her nap.

"It's called visiting, you can do that with your cluster, or other sensates you meet." She tells him, then leans towards him, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "Do you want me to show you ?

"Huh ... sure ?"

Then suddenly, they are not sitting on a tiny bed in a tiny student house in Canada, but they are standing, facing each other in the middle of a busy street, filled with honking cars, crowds of people passing past them. They are surrounded by low, white and yellow buildings, the sidewalk covered in sand and Hansol can't believe his eyes.  
He gapes. His ears areshrilled by the screech of tires and seagulls, his neck warm from the shy sun, his eyes watering with the brightness. He can feel the wind blowing on his fingertips, he can taste the salty air of the sea, and when his gaze falls back on Aminata, she is smiling so wide, so happy, that he can't help the amazed grin expanding on his face.  
She lifts her hand to his face and replaces a lock of his light brown hair, the touch so light yet so tangible and it is just unbelievable. She leans in and whispers in his ear.

"Bye, Hansol, have fun !"

And he is back on his bed, his back against the wall, Sarah snoring softly at the bottom of his bed. It has started snowing, outside, and the patches of sunlight on his floor have disappeared, and he just stares at his room, his entire body feeling like jelly. He brings his fingers to his face, pawing at his cheeks, and whispers to himself in the empty room.

"Holy shit."

He swears he hears Aminata giggle somewhere.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be short, because it's 1am and I am exhausted.  
> I'm sorry it took me four months to update this; had a lot of work to do over the summer, but it is mostly because I am a generally slow sloth at updating. Still, sorry about that. It'll probably happen again, even if I'll try not to take as long as this time to update next time.  
> This was supposed to be done for Lou's birthday, then for Jihoon's, and it ended up being late for both so, hum, yeah. I still love them both, though.  
> Special thanks to Raine, who took the time to edit this chapter, and helped me a LOT ! thank you bud ~
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Lots of swearing  
> \- mild depression talk (it's not major, but it's still here in relation to one of the characters)  
> \- mild drugs mention

Soonyoung's palms are clammy, awfully so, and it’s not even 8 am yet. He knows it is his body telling him that he should feel some kind of stress: it is, after all, a Big Day, but he is getting better at handling those since he seems to have so many lately for some reason.

He wipes his hands discreetly on his jeans, fumbles with his cap, and then crosses the theatre room to greet his assistant choreographer who looks just as excited as he feels. His assistant choreographer. Meaning Soonyoung is the main choregrapher. The thought makes him feel giddy, and he knows his voice is a bit too loud as he briefly hugs a few members of the staff , but he couldn't care less. They are going to have to get used to it, anyways.

The room is slowly starting to get crowded; this is their first official gathering with the whole troupe. Soonyoung scans the noisy hall, waves to a few known faces, people he worked with before on projects, people he met on showcases. There are a lot of people he doesn't know, too, and he already feels the thrill of getting to know so many people, of being in charge of so much.

 

The main producer, Song Qian, the Big Boss, steps out from the corner where she was chatting with the Other Big Boss, Michael, the stage director, and grins at Soonyoung when their eyes meet. Soonyoung likes her; she looks like the basic theatre nerd, with her circle glasses adorning her face and flannel shirt untucked. Plus, she has been enough of a fool to trust Soonyoung with choreographing an entire show when he hadn’t had any experience with musicals before.

"Soonyoung !" Song greets him enthusiastically, clapping her hand on his shoulder "How have you been ? Hope you're ready to teach those kids some sick moves !"

Soonyoung grins back and indulges her with a snicker. They are just all so damn excited.

"Ready as ever, ma'am !" he answers, jittery. "Can't wait to terrorize everyone with my terrifying practice routine."

Song laughs at that and claps his shoulder once again, her eyes twinkling with happy mirth.

"We both know that they're more likely to be traumatised by Michael by the end of the season," she answers, winking, before getting swooped into another embrace from a colleague.

 

Soonyoung is content to bask in the excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as he catches up with a few other staff members he hasn't seen in a while. Michael walks up to him a few minutes before 8:30 to shake his hand, his front teeth on display in an unwavering smile. His grey hair is tousled and the laughter lines on his face are all over the place. Soonyoung greets him, a bit stiff; he is very much intimidated by Michael, who has been in the theatre milieu for twenty years. Michael radiates warmth and passion, and has probably reduced helf of the European theatre scene to tears. It is kind of nerve-wracking to think Soonyoung is going to have to work with the guy.

The clamour in the theatre quiets down gradually. Everyone eventually sits down and Soonyoung feels Michael elbowing him: Song steps up on the stage, mic in hand, exuding energy albeit the early hour. She tests the mic and greets her audience:

"Hello everyone ! Thank you for coming ! I mean, I know it’s a mandatory meeting, but let's pretend it's not." She laughs, grinning at the room. "You can probably tell that I am as excited as you to be here today, as we are finally going to start to work on this big Wicked project together !"

The troupe claps enthusiastically as she gestures to Soonyoung and the four or five other people standing beside him on the stage.

"The crew here with me has been preparing this for months," she continues. "You probably know most of them, but I would like to introduce those who will be your guiding lights for the months to come. Come on up, guys !"

The troupe starts clapping, some even shouting encouragements and names. Soonyoung clenches his fists for a few seconds before relaxing them, heart slow but loud in his chest. He exhales, grins up at Song Qian, then steps up on the stage.

 

 

Jihoon's palms are clammy, awfully so, and he squints at them before wiping them hastily on his trackpants. Hum, what the fuck. He usually never gets nervous on Review Day. Hell, he doesn't even feel nervous right now: his heartbeat is steady, his breathing is even, his brain is perfectly at peace if only completely exhausted, so why are his hands forming tiny swimming pools right now ? He grumbles a bit and snuggles deeper into the comfy, worn-out leather sofa of the main studio, stifling a yawn with his mouth closed.

Bumzu, next to him, has been struggling to keep his head straight for the past ten minutes. Jihoon looks up to glance at the clock. He's been awake for, what, 42 hours now ? Not counting a small nap of about two or three hours in the wee hours of the morning cramped on the floor of his small recording room. He’s done worse than that, mainly back in Korea in his old studio that was filled with unreliable material, short deadlines and shorter pays. His mics, software, studio and country of residence has changed since then, but here he is, still running on caffeine, cola, and fluorescent energy drinks.

Flo, the main producer of the company, taps his pen against the desk pensively, then clears his throat, rolling his seat around to look at them. Jihoon straightens in his chair. He elbows Bumzu, whose chin is starting to seriously drop onto his chest, and Flo chuckles. Which is great, because Flo rarely smiles. Jihoon tries to pick up the most he can from Flo’s review – even after a few months here, he still only knows the most basic English. He is getting better at understanding, though, especially the praises and the “I know everyone’s tired here so I’m going to keep this quick” bits.

“That sound is great, guys, really, I’m impressed,” Flo gushes, and that Jihoon understands. He allows himself a smile. “I’m going to start thinking about setting you up to work on bigger project very soon !”

The sofa creaks as Bumzu leans excitedly towards Flo to thank him and oh, that’s kind of a big deal, if Jihoon heard correctly. For Flo to suggest that means that he and Bumzu are starting to get recognition in the studio and not just a general acknowledgement of the potential they have been hired for. True, since they’ve been recruited, they’ve received their fair share of impressed nods and compliments, but even though those were getting more and more frequent, this is the first time Flo is suggesting letting them lead important projects and not just background music for commercials or B-side tracks for lesser-known artists.

Flo stands up from his seat and offers another grin – he probably smiled more times tonight than during the whole six months they’ve known him. Jihoon gets up as well and almost bows out of habit, but he stops himself and offers an awkward smile instead. Flo looks down at him with glinting eyes, like he is some kind of proud father, and Jihoon tries very hard not to get pissed. He doesn’t need to be patronized, thank you very much. He mutters a goodbye, and Flo wishes them goodnight, briefly clapping his enormous hands on their shoulders before leaving the studio for them to close up.

Slowly, Jihoon turns to look at Bumzu, and for a few seconds they just stand, grinning at each other dumbly, tired but happy. Bumzu finally whoops, his voice cracking slightly, then raises his hand in front of him, and Jihoon lifts his own eagerly to come to clap in his friend’s hand.

“That’s awesome, man !” Bumzu exclaims a little loudly. “He couldn’t stop praising our work, saying it was the best we’ve done so far, that’s just great !”

Jihoon doesn’t answer, but his mouth doesn’t seem to want to let go of that grin, the one he knows makes him look even younger than usual. He bumps his fist against Bumzu’s still raised hand for good measure, then turns around to shut down the computer, still smiling. He taps a few keys to double save their work, and suddenly yelps loudly, retrieving swiftly his hands from the keyboard. He blinks a few times, stunned, and closes his eyes before opening them again.

“Man,” he groans, inspecting his spotless arms. “I’m so tired my eyes are starting to fuck up, thought there were black drawings on my arm just now.”

Bumzu laughs behind him.

“It’s time we go catch some sleep, yeah.”

 

 

Wonwoo looks up from where he is whipping the coffee machine when he hears the familiar creaking of the door of the café, ready to throw his best welcoming grin to the new customer. The quiet music seeping through the speakers is momentarily drowned by the pouring of the rain outside before the glass door closes behind a soaking wet Mingyu. Wonwoo snorts as his friend shrugs off his drenched jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the entrance.

“When are you just going to buy an umbrella ?” Wonwoo throws as a greeting when Mingyu walks up to the bar, grinning. “You’re going to get the floor all dirty with your shoes.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes as Wonwoo extends his hand, and raises his to clap his friend’s and squeeze it briefly.

“The floor’s already a mess, don’t go and put all the blame on me,” Mingyu answers, though he glances down behind him anyways.

Wonwoo frowns as Mingyu shakes his dark hair off his forehead. He shrugs belatedly.

“I tried. You want hot chocolate ?”

His friend answers with a toothy smile.

“Oh yeah, actually, that’s a great idea.”

Wonwoo nods, hand already on its way to grab the bottle of almond milk – he knows Mingyu likes the taste better. Mingyu sits more comfortably on one of the stools near the bar as he gets to work, stretching his arm over his head with a yawn. He lets his eyes wander from Wonwoo, busy making the drink while trying not to get his glasses all fogged up, to the many bookshelves invading the walls of the café. He starts humming absent-mindedly to the song playing till he recognizes it, and he snorts.

“Disney songs ? Really ?” he says, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Wonwoo shrugs again, a small smile on his lips as he gestures vaguely to the couch tucked in the corner of the café, on which two six or seven year-old boys are reading, propped in odd positions, mumbling distractedly the lyrics to the song from time to time. Mingyu lets out a snicker.

“I can’t believe you; you’re really a softie.”

“Shut up, you drenched asshole, and drink,” Wonwoo answers as he pushes the cup towards Mingyu, before deciding to start making one for himself. It’s not a busy day today – it rarely is, to be fair, but they make do.

He lets a few minutes of silence fly before asking:

“Thought you didn’t work this weekend ? What are you doing here ?”

Mingyu stops blowing on his drink – he is a child, really – and sneezes loudly then sniffles.

“Had to go to uni today to have a paper signed. So I thought I’d drop by to have free hot chocolate, I guess.” He huffs. “There wasn’t anyone in the office even if closing time was at 16:30. I fucking hate uni administration.”

Wonwoo hums non-committally as he listens to his friend complaining—he wouldn’t know, anyways. He sips his drink, the warmth and sweetness spreading to his throat, comforting, and closes his eyes for a moment.

“You look dead tired, dude. Like, more than usual,” Mingyu pipes up, and Wonwoo’s brown eyes are on him again. “Still have problems sleeping ?”

“Kind of. Not more than usual.”

Wonwoo looks thoughtful as he fiddles with his cup, and Mingyu lowers his voice to ask:

“Is this the … weird thing again ?”

Wonwoo looks up, his labret piercing shifting from how he is tonguing it. He knows he’s lucky his parents own the café and let him keep it at work.

“Yeah.” He hums. “The dreams, and, huh … visions. They’re getting worse.”

Mingyu stares at him for a second before raising a hand in front of Wonwoo’s face.

“Okay, if you want me to have a serious conversation, you might want to skip the Mulan songs. You know I can’t help but sing along. It’s a condition.”

Wonwoo laughs but complies and checks the upcoming playlist on his computer. When he turns back, Mingyu is stirring his drink again, watching him pensively with a skittish look to his eyes.

“So. The things again,” Mingyu starts with a pointed tone. “And you said they were getting worse ? Worse, like what ? It’s been, what, two weeks since they started ? Do you think it’ll … stop, at some point ? How could it get even worse ?”

Wonwoo smiles a bit at the questions; he appreciates the fact that Mingyu tries very hard to keep his cool, to be as supportive as he can in the situations Wonwoo always ends up in, he really does. He should probably tell him, some day. He glances back at the bottom of his cup, into the last bits of chocolate, wishing he had sleeves in which he could bury his hands. It is starting to get cold in the café.

“I don’t know, Gyu, I told you everything already. It’s just fucking weird. I keep feeling things that have nothing to do with me in the oddest situations,” he states, his voice steady but weary. “Like, I’m serving customers and I suddenly feel like laughing, or I’m in the middle of the metro and I feel angry. I get woken up by rain or music, but then I realise that there isn’t any noise. It’s like, I feel things that aren’t mine, yet they feel like they are. Mine, I mean.”

Mingyu opens his mouth, then closes it again, wetting his lips, before suggesting:

“Maybe it’s ...”

He still has a hard time saying that word, and Wonwoo tries to not to get too awkward at that. Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away, frowning at a table somewhere behind, before coming back to Mingyu.

“It’s not … I’ve told you before, this is not dissociation, Gyu, this is not … depression kicking back. I would know.” He lets out a self-depreciating laugh, one that makes Mingyu wince, before softening his voice. “I feel alive. Not the contrary. I hear things that I’m not supposed to, I see things that are not supposed to be here, I … feel things. Like, some bad things, yeah, but also a lot of good things. It’s kind of a … nice change, you know ?”

Mingyu hums. Something in Wonwoo’s tone makes him smile a bit, and Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t be surprised by it, but he is so relieved his friend wouldn’t even think about throwing him a look of pity. He allows himself a small smile then exhales, and raises his head to look at his friend’s face.

“Like, don’t freak out but.” He starts. “There was a guy, sat at that table, till a minute ago. I swear he was there, Mingyu, he was on his laptop and had books all over the table and all. And he’s not here anymore, and I know I didn’t see him leave.”

Mingyu stiffens and slowly moves around to gaze at the empty table. Wonwoo knows that Mingyu would have noticed the customer when entering the shop—if the guy had actually been here—and he also knows Mingyu believes him. Mingyu’s hands are slightly trembling when he turns back to Wonwoo, clutching the empty cup till his knuckles are white. He lets out a shaky exhale.

“Shit, dude. Shit.”

He worries his lips between his teeth, and the café sounds eerily silent, despite the two little boys on the couch now chatting animatedly.

“I really wish I could help, I wish I had some answers,” he states eventually, earnest. “But, I … Hum … I’m kinda trying super hard to not freak out, for now. You know I love some supernatural shit and all, but … this is so much more concrete than dumb spiritualist séances while being high and shit. This is, like, serious shit.”

Wonwoo bitterly laughs and lowers his head, clearing his throat.

“That’s okay, man. You tell me. But, like …” Wonwoo trails off for a second, before lowering his gaze and muttering, “At least you believe me.”

 

 

The hard surface of the table feels cool beneath Jeonghan’s cheek, too hard to offer an optimal napping spot, but the back of their head is nicely warmed up by the low sunbeams filtering from outside into the lecture hall. It distracts them from the uncomfortable digging of the inside of their glasses into the side of their nose from where their face is pressed against the furniture. They hear the drowsy chatter of the lecture hall grow as the room fills with sluggish students, cheeks rosy with winter wind and animation. Jeonghan feels so cosy and warm, cuddled in sun, their ice cold hands nicely pressed between their thighs and the seat. They barely feel the intermittent jostle of the table running along the whole rank as more students come to sit at the extremities, and they begin to doze off—having a full bowl of jjajamyeon for lunch perhaps wasn’t a good idea, in hindsight, if the goal was to stay awake during the entire lecture.

Jeonghan is nearly falling asleep when a gentle hand lands on their shoulder, startling them awake. They groan, ungracefully unfurling themselves from their listless position to glare at the newcomer currently settling down beside them.

“You woke me up.” Jeonghan says, grouchy.

Hoseok just grins at them, retrieving his laptop from his bag.

“Hello, Jeonghan,” he answers, eyes crinkling. 

Jeonghan only grunts in reply but starts to dig into their own backpack to get their stuff. Class is starting soon, anyway. Hoseok starts telling them about his weekend as he turns on his computer, and Jeonghan hums from time to time, still a bit drowsy from their near-nap. Hoseok chats animatedly, his lips stretched into a happy grin, and Jeonghan’s mouth falls easily into a smile.

Jeonghan likes Hoseok, even if the two of them only share a couple of classes. The guy is nice and gentle, to a surprising extent: he lends Jeonghan his notes when they fall asleep in class without them even asking and more often than not offers to buy them a cup of that admittedly awful but cheap coffee from the machine down the hall. Hoseok is the kind of guy that wears nail polish without acting like he is edgy and breaking gender norms; he is also one of the very few people who did not show any disbelief, awkwardness when Jeonghan corrected him on their pronouns the first time and never misgendered them again afterwards.

“You look good with your make-up today, by the way,” Hoseok slips in the middle of his storytelling, smiling fondly at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan blinks in surprise before he grins widely. Yep, Hoseok is definitely a great guy.

They stretch exaggeratedly, glancing at the clock hung above the door of the lecture hall – about five minutes before the start of the lecture, the professor should show up any minute – and start turning back to Hoseok before halting their movements to gasp loudly.

“Oh my god. Who’s that ?”

Hoseok hums beside them, but Jeonghan isn’t paying attention, because holy crap, a god-like apparition just entered the room. The newcomer is definitely new to this class—Jeonghan would definitely have noticed the student before, what with these unbelievable cheekbones and nose, the windswept black hair and the legs that seem to know no end. The student looks soft, wearing a black turtle-neck coming to kiss rosy lips and rosier cheeks, and a bit shy too, diligently trotting to a seat in the second row and Jeonghan straight up whines. Hoseok laughs as Jeonghan perches up on their seat to take a better glimpse at the front of the room.

“I have no idea, but damn, I wish I did,” Hoseok sighs, eyeing the new student as well.

“What do you mean, you have no idea ?” Jeonghan exclaims, indignant. “I thought you knew every living soul in this university ? Especially the not-straight ones ?”

“How do you know this one isn’t straight ?” Hoseok asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’d be a crime if they were,” Jeonghan replies, their eyes drinking in the sight a few meters below them. “Must be an exchange student. Are you positive you’ve never meet them ?”

Hoseok laughs again, quieter, and shakes his mouse to wake his computer – seems like their professor has finally sneaked his way to the lecture hall.

“This is university, Jeonghan. Sadly, I don’t know everyone.”

Jeonghan tuts as their eyes darts again to the second row to the front.

“Then what use are you really, Hoseok ?” they huff, and Hoseok chuckles.

 

Five minutes before the end of the lecture, Jeonghan has made their decision. They have spent the entire hour of the class staring at the soft-looking hair dancing on that pretty golden neck as the new student diligently took notes—Jeonghan hasn’t even bothered taking out their laptop. The professor has barely started to dismiss class, but Jeonghan springs to their feet, grabbing their phone and bag.

“Wait for me for a second,” they absently whisper to Hoseok who hasn’t even saved his notes from the day on his computer.

Jeonghan hears their friend snort faintly, but they’re already launching themselves along the row of seats then down the flight of stairs towards the bottom of the hall as the chatter of the students starts up again in full force. They walk up to the student, busy stuffing his notes into his bag. As Jeonghan enters his vision, the student looks up, and Jeonghan swears it’s not a gasp they almost let out. His facial features are even more stunning up close—his lips, holy shit, are so unbelievably full—and Jeonghan is enchanted to discover a kind of sweetness lingering in the gorgeous lines of his face.

“Hey,” Jeonghan starts with a small smile, trying to look a bit more friendly and a bit less bewitched. “I’ve never seen you in this lecture before, you’re an exchange student, right ?”

The student looks taken aback for a few seconds, and his eyes dart at the side absently before returning to Jeonghan’s face, like his brain is not really processing that Jeonghan is talking to him, and, well, it looks like he is having a harder time not looking too bewitched.

“Hello,” he finally answers, and his voice is so nasally soft and so fitting to his gentle face. “Yes, I just came for this semester.”

The student struggles a bit with words, the way people who are not used to holding conversations in a foreign language do. Jeonghan smiles reassuringly, and make sure to speak slightly slower.

“I figured I could offer you some help, maybe ? Like, past notes for this class, if you need them, informations, stuff like that.” Jeonghan proposes, doing their best to sound nonchalant. “I mean, I did an exchange too last year, and I know how jarring it can be to find your marks in a new university. If you want to, of course, and if you need it.”

The student blinks again, and hmm, Jeonghan has probably been too straightforward again.

“That’s … really nice,” the student pipes up after a second of silence. “Really. Thank you. I am actually a bit confused with the assessment system for this class; I never did linguistics before, so help would be great.”

He laughs a tiny, soft laugh, self-depreciating on the edge, and Jeonghan is smitten.

“Why are you taking this class then ? What’s your major ?” they ask.

“I, huh, do maths and finance,” the student answers softly, “but I had to take a language class, as I am an exchange student.”

Jeonghan hums, nodding, and grins at him.

“I’m Jeonghan, by the way.”

“Junhui,” the student answers with a shy smile and god, Jeonghan is going to melt.

 

 

Seungcheol wakes up screaming, which is the worst fucking way to wake up, right next to getting stepped on your face by a cat, which is coincidentally the other reason he was woken up. The thing that makes him scream is the fact that he doesn’t own a fucking cat.

“WHAT THE FUCK !!” he hollers, sitting up in a bed that’s not his and holy fuck how much did he drink last night ?

The animal that brought him to consciousness scuttles off to the other side of the room to hide between the feet of a person standing in the room and—there’s a fucking person in the room, fucking hell !

“Jesus Christ !” the new guy blurts out, surprised, just as Seungcheol screams again and springs to his feet, grabbing the nearest object that can help him defend himself from the other intruder.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ?” Seungcheol yells, squaring up his shoulders to look as menacing as he can.

The man blinks at him, and at least he looks stunned and mildly wary with the way he eyes Seungcheol in his ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, brandishing a bedside lamp. The guy looks tired, a too-clean cream coat hanging half-way off his shoulders, soft-looking brown hair barely ruffled; Seungcheol is instantly annoyed at how kept and pristine he looks. The stranger stares a bit, dumbfounded, before shedding his coat the rest of the way off and releases a sigh.

“God, you scared me,” the man mutters, and his anticlimactic reaction is baffling. Is he supposed to know the guy or something ?

“WHO ARE YOU ? WHERE AM I ?” Seungcheol demands, waving his weapon while his eyes dart around the room, which is definitely not his badly-isolated apartment.

“Hum, hi, I’m Joshua, nice to meet you,” the stranger answers calmly, looking almost pleasantly surprised. “You startled me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to show up now, I guess.”

His answer is enough to throw Seungcheol off-guard, and he stutters.

“Wh- what ?”

Seungcheol is not a man who stutters. Ever.

“Ah, it may be rude of me, but I couldn’t help noticing,” the guy – Joshua – continues with mild interest. “Is that a Scottish accent ? I didn’t know aliens had the same accents as people from here.”

Seungcheol actually laughs in disbelief – he’s having a fucking stroke, there’s no doubt.

“I’m not a fucking alien for fuck’s sake ! I’m from fucking Glasgow !”

Joshua’s face falls, and Seungcheol jaw clenches even more when he realises that the man looks—crestfallen, if only a bit confused. Not panicked, as he fucking should be.

“Oh, really ? Hum.” The guy frowns. “This is much more complicated than I thought, then.”

“What the fuck are you talking about ?” Seungcheol barks, then waves the lamp threateningly. “WHAT IS THIS FUCKING PLACE ?”

“This is my flat, in L.A.”

The silence that follows would almost feel staged, if Seungcheol weren’t so stunned and maybe, nearly, on the edge of panicking.

“L.A, like, Los Angeles ??” Seungcheol chokes as Joshua nods. “Like, in America ?!”

Joshua nods again.

“HOW DID I END UP IN FUCKING AMERICA ?”

He knows he sounds like he is wheezing, and Joshua throws him a concerned look before speaking, watching him carefully, like he is afraid Seungcheol might faint or attack him any moment. Which is not that fucking impossible.

“Well,” Joshua starts. “I thought you might be linked with what this girl told me a few weeks a-”

“Oh you’ve seen her too ?” Seungcheol interrupts, breathing heavily. “That crazy black girl ? What’d she tell you ?”

“I don’t know.” The guy hums. “She was very cryptic about things, but she told me that I was “one of them”, so I just assumed -”

“That I was one of them too ? When I showed up ?” Seungcheol asks roughly. “So that’s why you weren’t freaking out over a fucking stranger showing up in your room ? WHY THE FUCK AREN’T YOU FREAKING OUT ?”

The Joshua guy just shrugs, and Seungcheol swears he’s having a stroke right now.

“Didn’t you feel weird these past weeks ? I sort of sensed something was going to happen, even if I didn’t know what exactly.” Joshua looks up at him, and he looks earnest, if anything. “I mean, the universe, that can’t be it, right ? There has to be aliens, things we can’t fathom, other species, other people. Like us, apparently.”

Seungcheol gapes at the guy for a few seconds, and then he starts laughing, without exactly knowing why; the guy sounds absolutely insane, but this entire situation is fucking insane. His head is spinning and he doesn’t seem like he can stop, probably because if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably start screaming. The lamp that was in his hand comes to crash against the floor—he didn’t even realise he dropped it, and the noise has him opening his eyes. His laughter dies instantly, as he realises that, while he was having a nervous breakdown, the Joshua guy has vanished and that the bottom of the walls of the room he is standing in are now damp with humidity and streaked with the shiny traces of the visits of slugs.

“What the- OH FUCKING HELL.”

He’s back home, and he has no fucking idea about what just happened. He’s definitely not telling anyone at work, or ever, about this.

 

 

Seungkwan squints at his computer screen, absently humming a random song—it’s probably turned into a mashup of several songs at this point, he really isn’t paying attention. Humming like this only helps him focus on his work and his colleagues have learned to tune him out. Probably.

He interrupts his low singing and scrunches up his nose, scratching his eyebrow while reading the numbers displayed on the screen, then calls:

“Chan ?”

He hears his friend hum, distracted, from his desk to his right, and he takes that as a prompt to ask, eyes still stuck on the screen.

“Can you hand me wrench number eight please ?”

He extends his hand in the general direction of Chan’s work station but is met instead with a disbelieving “What the fuck ?”. He turns his head, frowning.

“The Nano hard-drive number eight,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at Chan’s astonished expression. “Can you pass it to me, please, I need to compare confusion matrices.”

Chan lets out a nervous peal of laughter, before grabbing the object on his desk and handing it to him, looking concerned.

“That is not what you asked the first time, Seungkwan” he says firmly, and Seungkwan opens his mouth to protest but Chan insists. “Are you sure you’re okay ? You’ve been saying a lot of odd stuff lately. More than usual, I mean.”

Seungkwan scoffs at that and shrugs, turning back to his computer to plug the hard-drive in.

“I’m fine, Chan,” he answers, dismissive. “Just not getting a lot of sleep. Guess it’s homesickness kicking in or something, and that’s why I feel a little weird.”

Chan doesn’t pry and returns to his laptop, readjusting those round glasses he uses to work, the ones that make him look even more like a computer nerd. Seungkwan knows his friend is genuinely worried about him, though—and, if Seungkwan is being honest, he’s starting to get a bit worried, too.

He sighs and massages his temples, waiting for his computer to load the enormous amount of data kept on the hard drive. He closes his eyes, a song making its way again past his lips again, but after a few seconds the skin of his cheek starts prickling and he whips his head to the left, disturbed. He ends up face to face with a dude that looks his age, big eyes, big smile, gorgeous, and who was absolutely not there a second ago. Seungkwan sees black flash in front of his eyes. His throat constricts just as the stranger opens his mouth to exclaim:

“Oh, sweet ! Are you the one that always sings pop songs ?”

Seungkwan thinks he lets out a piercing scream, then blacks out.

 

Seungkwan blinks wildly as he comes to his senses in a room too nicely lit to be the study room he was previously working in. He sits up groggily on the bed he has been laid down on, rubbing his forehead as he inspects the room—it looks like the infirmary of the university, but he was never here before so he is not entirely sure. He winces at his sluggishness, and slowly registers the sound of Chan’s voice from outside in the corridor.

“Oh, glad you’re awake !” a voice speaks out from somewhere at his right. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that, sorry.”

Seungkwan whips his head so fast he almost blacks out again. The guy from earlier is here, sat on a chair next to the bed, wearing a worried look on his face. He has light brown hair and is wearing a large green hoodie; two small piercings are peeking out from under each side of his lower lip and he just looks way too unkempt to belong in this lab, or even anywhere near here—Seungkwan inexplicably knows, anyways, that the guy is not supposed to be here.

“Who–who–who are you ?!” Seungkwan stammers, scooting away as far as he can on the bed—unfortunately, he doesn’t trust his legs to bolt and run to the door yet. “How did you get here ?!”

The guy lifts his hands slowly, staring at Seungkwan intensely, an easy smile stretched on his pink lips.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay, I understand, I was spooked out too the first it happened to me,” he says, his tone soft, his eyes softer. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“Who. Are. YOU ?!” Seungkwan repeats, and he knows his voice sounds hysterical but he is on the verge of passing out again.

His voice must have alerted Chan, because just as the stranger looks like he is about to answer, the door of the room opens and his friend enters, a relieved smile on his face.

“Hey, Seungkwan, glad to see you’re okay ! You really scared me earlier,” he says as he strolls up to Seungkwan’s bed.

Seungkwan watches, dumbstruck, as Chan totally ignores the other guy sitting in the room and asks:

“How are you feeling ? You scared us, suddenly fainting like that ...” Chan chuckles lightly. “Maybe you didn’t eat enough this morning and your blood pressure was too low or something ?”

“I ...” Seungkwan mutters, and Chan frowns—Seungkwan is hardly ever rendered speechless.

He walks around the bed and Seungkwan stares, dumbfounded, as his friend comes to plant himself right in front of the guy, nearly on his lap, as if – as if he is not seeing him at all. Black flashes are suddenly obstructing Seungkwan’s vision again. Chan lowers a hand to touch Seungkwan’s head, a worried crease adorning his forehead.

“Huh, I’m going to ask if they have something to treat fever, you still look a bit stunned.”

Seungkwan doesn’t react, and Chan’s mouth twist. His concern is understandable—he has been in the room for a total of about three minutes, and Seungkwan still hasn’t uttered a single sentence. Chan exits the room without realizing Seungkwan hasn’t detached his eyes from the chair next to his bed. The silence returns as the door closes, soon broken by an awkward laughter coming from the other occupant.

“Huh, okay, I know this looks crazy but—don’t freak out, okay ?”

Seungkwan lets out a humourless chuckle, frantic at the edges, and he knows he sounds two seconds from passing out when he asks in disbelief: “Don’t freak out ?”

He totally is two seconds from passing out.

“Yeah, don’t do that !” the guy answers, suddenly speaking faster. “Your friend, just then, he didn’t see me, but I assure you I’m-”

“Don’t. FREAK OUT ?”

The guy visibly recoils at Seungkwan’s outburst, but Seungkwan couldn’t care less when his breath is not coming out properly from his lungs and it feels like his head is about to explode.

“Yeah, please, let me explain, this is really real I swear, I-”

The kid looks so sincerely distraught, Seungkwan would have surely felt sorry for him in other circumstances, but right now he is just shaking so hard the bed is jostling.

“HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO FREAK OU-” he starts hollering before interrupting himself. “Wait no, I’m NOT going to indulge into that freaky thing by talking to a … an hallucination or whatever you are.”

He proceeds to cross his shaky arms over his chest and face stubbornly ahead, trying to even his breathing as discreetly as possible. The stranger lets out a desperate noise as he shifts on the chair.

“I swear, I swear to you I’m not an illusion, I live in Toronto, in Canada ! We, like, we share stuff … We’re ... connected, somehow !”

Seungkwan doesn’t answer, pretending he isn’t hearing the guy, and that his heart isn’t beating erratically in his chest.

“There are others !” the guy tries again. “I haven’t talked to them yet, you’re the first one, but I’ve seen them, I think, maybe four or five of them, and – ”

He pauses, and Seungkwan can see him wringing his hands on his lap from the corner of his eye.

“Just, let me prove it to you, okay ?” the guy insists, his voice softer. “Take your phone and just call my num-”

“No way I’m paying to call a possibly exhaustion-induced hallucination that supposedly lives in America !” Seungkwan protests, turning his head again with an offended look.

The guy has the nerve to sigh before digging into the pocket of his hoodie to take out a phone with a shattered screen.

“Okay, then, just tell me your number. If I’m only an hallucination, then you risk nothing by giving it to me, right ?”

Seungkwan scoffs, but complies. As the guy types the numbers in his phone, he turns his head towards the door again and resumes his ignoring. The beeps from the ongoing call resonate, solemn, in the eeriness of the infirmary. After a minute of awkward ringing, the door opens again and Chan enters, Seungkwan’s vibrating phone in hand.

“Hey, there’s an unknown number calling your phone,” he starts, strolling to Seungkwan to hand him the phone.

“Can you, huh, answer it for me, please ?” Seungkwan in a weak voice.

Chan lifts an eyebrow at that, but complies and answers. On the other side of the room, the guy starts to speak obnoxiously:

“Yeah, hello, Hansol here, I just want to prove your friend that I am very real and stuff, because he seems to think I’m some sort of an illusion.”

Chan frowns and lowers the phone, casting a questioning look at Seungkwan.

“Huh, this is a guy speaking English ?”

Seungkwan nearly faints again at that, and he visibly pales.

“I …” he trails off feebly, before clearing his throat. “Must be a mistake, I think.”

He hears Chan apologize in his broken English from far away, and barely registers him saying he’s going to let Seungkwan rest a bit more. He only realises that his hands are gripping the sheets when his friend has left the room and he is left alone with the guy – Hansol, apparently – looking at him earnestly.

“Okay. Expain.”

 

 

Mingyu huffs as he climbs the last steps leading to the fourth floor of Wonwoo’s apartment block. He allows himself a minute or two to even his breathing, pressing a finger on his wrist to check his pulse. He doesn’t even have to, actually, he can feel it going wild against the side of his throat and yep, this tachycardia isn’t going anywhere.

Still panting a bit, he straightens up and lets his backpack fall from his shoulder to reach inside for the keys to Wonwoo’s apartment. He unlocks the door and lets himself in, toeing off his sneakers while mouthing to the rap song still playing in his ears. He thinks he hears the low rumbling of Wonwoo’s voice over the music and removes his earbuds, leaving them to hang lifelessly at the front of his hoodie. Yeah, that’s definitely Wonwoo’s voice coming from the kitchen—but as far as Mingyu knows, Wonwoo still hasn’t taken on the habit of talking to himself like Mingyu did, so that’s odd.

“Wonwoo ?” He calls out, walking over to the doorframe of the kitchen in three short strides.

Wonwoo’s parents’ flat isn’t that big, but it’s decent enough for four people. What makes it look small is actually that it is full of bookshelves, book piles and weird arty stuff—Wonwoo’s mom says that it gives it personality. Wonwoo is sat on one of the counters when Mingyu enters the kitchen, a weird expression on his face when he looks up. He almost looks guilty.

“Huh. Hi, Gyu,” Wonwoo mutters, sheepish.

Mingyu eyes him pointedly, leaning on the doorframe, and answers: “Yo. How’s it going ?”

Wonwoo licks his lips, and nods feebly. His left leg jitters against the cupboard door.

“I’m good, I’m good. How’re you ?”

Mingyu doesn’t responds, and instead narrows his eyes as Wonwoo’s eyes darts to a corner of the kitchen, his mouth twitching.

“What’s going on, dude ?” he asks carefully—he has learned throughout the years that the best strategy is to always be forward with Wonwoo, who has a tendency to keep everything to himself, even the things he really wants to talk about. He knows he’s not pushing, because if his friend doesn’t want to tell him stuff, then he just won’t.

“I ...”

Wonwoo hesitates, licking his lips, and glances up at Mingyu’s face, then to the corner of the kitchen again.

“Okay, so, don’t freak out, okay ?” Wonwoo starts after breathing deeply.

Mingyu nods, a sign for him to continue, still watching his friend with concern.

“You remember the guy I … huh, saw in the shop the other day ? The one who was studying.”

Mingyu hums, neutral and as Wonwoo’s eyes move again to the side and nods almost imperceptibly, he is, against all odds, starting to freak out.

“Well … He is … kinda – here. Right now.”

Mingyu sucks in a sharp breath.

“And ...” Wonwoo continues, closing his eyes for a brief instant, then opening them again to stare right at Mingyu. “He’s not just him alone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated, don't hesitate to say something !  
> you can find me on twitter @coldartistg  
> See you next time :)


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New encounters, new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... It's been 8 months I am so S O so r ry .........  
>  If you're still here: I love you and I'm so sorry. Be sure that I won't give up this fic because it is very dear to me but this year has been weird and kinda chaotic and I am naturally slow at writing so it did not help. So if you have the patience to bear with me, thank you and i love you.  
> I'll probably come back to the first chapter of this to edit it before posting the next chapter.  
> Don't expect the next chapter before November I guess, bc I have to finish my internship, graduate and travel for a month before that. Also I signed up for lordeventeen (lol)
> 
> Thank you Raine for taking the time to beta this <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter:  
> \- alcohol/drunk ppl (istg why are half of my characters drunk half of the time)  
> \- swearing (i'll stop tagging this one because they have foul mouths incredible)

Joshua sighs as he hears the mattress huff behind him, crushed under the sudden weight of a body. He takes a look at the hour on his phone – it’s just past 4 in the afternoon, meaning around midnight in Europe. He turns his chair around, abandoning his Accounting textbook.

“Why are you here again ?” Joshua sighs again.

Seungcheol opens a bleary eye from where his face is smashed against the blanket.

“ … and drunk. Again.” Joshua adds.

Seungcheol groans and mumbles something in the covers.

“Don’t you think your liver is probably completely destroyed at this point ?” Joshua pipes up.

Seungcheol vaguely moves his shoulders, and that’s the least shrug-looking shrug Joshua has ever seen but he’ll take it. Joshua sighs again before standing up, motioning to the other to follow him in the kitchen.

Princess’s ears perk up from where she is sleeping on the couch backrest when they – or he, Joshua guess, because Seungcheol isn’t technically there – enter the living-room. Seungcheol sits at the kitchen counter as Joshua takes out a glass from his cupboard and rummages through his drawers to find some painkillers. Seungcheol groans, probably not a “thank you” but Joshua considers it as such anyways, before gulping down the medicine. Meanwhile, Joshua sits down on the floor to scratch Princess’s ears now that she has gotten up to join them.

“Really, though, why are you always coming to see me ?” He pipes up as Princess purrs at him. “It has been confirmed that we are multiple people in … whatever this is, yet you’ve come here something like four times this week.”

“Dunno, mate,” Seungcheol croaks from where he’s peering down at Joshua. “D’you think I know how this shit works ? I just show up here randomly. Not like I want to be there either, got shit to do.”

Joshua snorts.

“Like ordering a fifth pint ?”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue before answering.

“’Xactly.”

“I don’t know, you could, like, go visit someone else.” Joshua suggests. “I’ve met some of the others; they seem quite cool so far. There’s Wonwoo from Paris, and I’ve met Hansol too, he lives in Toronto, he’s in uni studying Linguistics. I’ve seen also another-”

“How are you so chill about this ?” Seungcheol snaps, then winces at the sound of his own voice. “It took me three fucking weeks to stop freaking out when I turned up here, and that’s just because I was tired of losing my goddamn voice every time.”

“I told you, I’m not that surprised this happened.” Joshua shrugs. “Also three weeks was plenty of times for me to adjust. I was too curious about meeting the others anyways.”

Seungcheol’s mouth morphs into a frown, but he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches for a minute, disturbed only by the sound of Princess purring, but Joshua lets it be. Eventually, Seungcheol grumbles:

“I’ve seen one around … Might be a dancer or something, or works in a theatre. Sometimes when I ride my bike I, erm … get transported or some shit on his bicycle in the middle of a city somewhere like China.”

Joshua smiles as he looks up at Seungcheol’s gruff face.

“That’s cool !” He muses. “Maybe you could talk to him, ask him if he knows about us, stuff like that.”

Seungcheol snorts at him in disbelief.

“I can’t just go up to him and say ‘hi mate, not sure if you’ve noticed but we’re psychic and sort of mentally linked’. What if he freaks out and starts yelling and throwing shit ?”

“You mean like you did ?” Joshua fires back, smirking.

“Fuck you.” Seungcheol grunts.

 

The weather has started to get warmer in Seoul, but the nights remain freezing cold. Jeonghan doesn’t really care, hard liquor and cigarettes keeping them warm, as well as the bustling crowd in the streets of Hongdae. Their vision feels a bit blurred as they waddle to get closer to the singer playing in the middle of the makeshift stage. The musician was good enough to make them halt on their way back to the subway station and to risk missing the last train.  
Jeonghan stands, swaying gently, idly enjoying the remnants of the evening, the thrumming from a nice meal with friends, the chatter, laughter and music around them. At some point, though, the atmosphere changes slightly and Jeonghan looks around. They aren’t alone anymore.

“Hum. Where the fuck am I.”

The guy’s voice is grating, and Jeonghan’s first thought is that he sounds taller than he really is. The guy is looking around him, a bit bewildered and a lot confused. He turns towards Jeonghan and oh.

“I’ve seen you before.” Jeonghan tells him. “You’re that guy in the club, weeks ago. I think I’ve seen you a few times since, too.”

This time, his face isn’t swallowed up by a winter coat: it’s only a bit shadowed by the black cap he’s sporting, but Jeonghan can definitely tell it’s him – they can feel it’s him, for some reason. The guy blinks up at Jeonghan, still bewildered.

“Oh … Yeah, I’ve seen you too. Thought I was getting hallucinations from lack of sleep or something.”

Jeonghan laughs heartily at that and the other shoots him a weird look, bordering on stunned. Around them, Hongdae continues to live and it all feels very surreal and fuzzy. The guy looks around more intently, his eyebrows suddenly shooting up.

“Wait, that’s Hongdae, right ?” He exclaims. “What am I doing in Seoul ? What in hell is happening ?”

Jeonghan shrugs to indicate they have no clue about what this is all about either, before focusing back on the singer who is still playing. The guy has a very good voice.

“Too drunk to care, to be honest.” they answer after a moment, and the fact that it makes the weird stranger snort pleases them.

“Okay, fuck this, I’m out,” the stranger mutters brusquely, and by the time Jeonghan registers the absurdity of that sentence given their situation, the guy has vanished, just like that.

Jeonghan laughs out loud, before detaching themself from the crowd to finally continue their way towards the subway. They cut through less frequented streets, trusting their feet to know where to go because their head surely has lost all ability to find its way home. A bell rings somewhere on their right, and Jeonghan only has the time to turn their head and shout briefly before a loud screeching sound echoes in the mostly empty street and a bike nearly comes crashing into them.

“Oh my god, are you okay ?!”

The voice sounds panicked, and Jeonghan doesn’t answer right away, a bit stunned. The biker dismounts hurriedly to check on them, even though Jeonghan is not on the floor or anything – their hand that shot up to their chest is 20% surprise and 80% dramatic effect, to be honest. The guy has dark hair and slanted eyes, open wide with worry. He is wearing multiple layers of clothes and his forehead is covered with sweat as if he’s been biking for an hour or so. His hands are halfway to Jeonghan’s shoulders when he looks at their face and suddenly seem to register it. The biker halts and stutters, looking a bit dazed:

“I-I’m really sorry. Are you … Are you hurt anywhere ?”

Jeonghan shakes their head and grins at the stranger. The guy gulps and looks like he’s about to faint.

“No don’t worry, you didn’t touch me. I was just surprised,” they chirp. “I wasn’t expecting a bike in the streets at this hour.”

The other’s expression turns sheepish, and he laughs awkwardly, bouncing on his heels. His skin is terrible and his face is glistening, but he is gross in a cute kind of way, Jeonghan notes.

“Yeah, I’m huh, too broke to afford a metro ticket. So I just bike to and back home, it takes me about four hours every day,” the guy blabbers. “But there’s not much traffic at this hour, it’s just a shame Hong Kong’s such a big city, you know.”

He interrupts himself when he realises he is rambling, then looks down, embarrassed. Jeonghan is unbothered, though – or more like too out of it to be annoyed – and cocks their head to the right, confused.

“Hong Kong ? You mean Hongdae ?”

The stranger blinks at them for a few seconds.

“No. I mean Hong Kong. As in, this city.”

Jeonghan blinks back before looking around, squinting at the buildings adorning the streets. Yeah, that’s not Seoul.

“Ooooh.”

The guy clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you … sure you are okay ?” He asks, his tone wary.

“Yeah, totally fine. Never better.” Jeonghan answers. “Just didn’t realise you were part of that thing too.”

“Hum. What thing ? What are you talking about ?” the other asks, clearly lost. He squints at Jeonghan before asking: “Who are you ?”

Jeonghan smiles sweetly at the other before declaring:

“I’m your soulmate.”

There is a second of silence, before Jeonghan breaks and giggles at the other’s flabbergasted face.

“I’m just kidding. I guess I’m more like, a person with who you share thoughts and can … psychic-travel to ? If I got it right ?” They shrug. “I don’t really know myself, to be honest. Soulmates just sounded more dramatic.”

There’s a moment of silence, the distant honking of cars from the road brought by the wind, the stranger standing in front of Jeonghan, frozen. When he eventually opens his mouth, it’s to ask with a very slow and deliberate voice:

“Have you … been drinking ?”

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. They grin to the frowning guy.

“Yes. But. That’s not the point. Even if I do admit it does not help my case.”

The biker wrinkles his nose as if to agree and Jeonghan sighs loudly. They’re too drunk for this, really.

“Have you not felt … weird stuff happening around you ? Lately ?” they ask, catching a stray strand of hair to stick it behind their ear. The other guy’s eyes follow the motion, looking enthralled, before he catches himself staring.

“Huh … maybe,” he answers eventually. “But I’ve been just so caught up with work and the bike rides, didn’t really pay attention to anything else and most of the time I’m too tired to realise if what’s going on is weird or not.” He squints. “Your story really is like, 1% believable and that’s only because I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Well I’ll take the 1%.” Jeonghan shrugs before looking around. “I’m actually in Seoul, right now, I just …” They frown. “Ugh, I don’t know how this works, I just want to show you how it-”

“Whaaaaat’s happening ?” the other exclaims suddenly, his eyes going wide, staring at the buildings behind Jeonghan. “The, the street changed !”

“Really ?” Jeonghan cocks an eyebrow, before looking around as well. Looks like they’re back in Seoul. “Well, that was easy.”

They turn to the other guy who has gone from looking bewildered to way more panicked.

“What … What’s happening ?” he stutters, his voice raising higher and higher. “I’m freaking out—how do you turn that off ?”

The guy seems like he is two seconds from having a panic attack and Jeonghan groans. Not the smartest move. The sound makes the other swipe his head towards them, and he cowers towards his bike, eyes open with fear.

“Yeah, so, I’m going to pretend you’re a very talented street magician and that was only a trick and—” he says very quickly while mounting his bike again, “I’m going to go home and forget all about this okay bye—”

Jeonghan sighs as the stranger scurries off the road, swaying too hard in his hurry. They were definitely too drunk for this.

 

“I am sooooo tired.”

Hansol hears Seungkwan flop face first on his mattress just as he finishes editing his essay conclusion. He chuckles then saves his work before closing his computer. He turns on his chair to face Seungkwan’s mop of blond hair and his pink sweater, upside-down on his bed, pristine against his blue blanket thrown haphazardly this morning.

“Have you only just come home ?” he asks, stretching and checking the time. “What time is it in Japan ?”

“Past midnight,” comes the muffled voice of Seungkwan, exhausted on the edges.

“Why aren’t you sleeping then ?” Hansol asks, which makes Seungkwan raise his head.

The boy sighs, before turning on his back to stare at the ceiling of Hansol’s dorm room.

“I don’t know,” he answers “I should, probably, yeah. But Chan isn’t home yet and it’s kind of depressing to be alone in this apartment.”

He pauses.

“It’s also depressing to see Chan, to be honest. He’s so tired, all the time.”

“Like you,” Hansol offers.

Seungkwan gives him a look for a second before scooting a bit further across the bed, his head hanging almost completely from the side of the bed.

“Yeah, like me. But he’s passionate about what we’re doing, so I guess it doesn’t matter for him. He’s just like that,” Seungkwan says, fond.

Hansol doesn’t answer for a while, not really bothered by the silence, and observes Seungkwan’s face for a moment.

“You’re very vocal about your emotions,” he states after a moment.

Seungkwan’s gaze is piercing even upside-down.

“Aren’t you ?”

Hansol shrugs.

“Not really,” he says, then thinks for a few seconds. “More like, not much to be vocal about, to be honest. I try to just go with whatever sounds to be the best thing to do at the moment.”

Seungkwan sighs.

“That sounds nice. Nicer than questioning every decision you’ve ever made. Don’t laugh !” he admonishes when Hansol giggles. “I guess you can’t really understand, you have your shit together.”

Hansol grimaces at that but doesn’t add anything, even when Seungkwan squints at him.

“Aren’t you light-headed from this position ?” Hansol asks after a few beats of silence.

“Actually, yeah,” Seungkwan answers, scooting back on Hansol’s bed and flopping on his front. “I thought not being actually here would subdue the way I feel things but no, it’s actually all worse, ugh. Even dizziness is ten times stronger,” he groans, clutching his head.

Hansol doesn’t answer, watching Seungkwan moan around on his blanket, a smile on his lips. Seungkwan stops after a few seconds to stare back.

“What ?” He asks.

“Nothing. It’s just ...” Hansol starts, his smile widening. “You know, for someone who didn’t want to talk to me at all the first time I went to you, you’ve become super clingy very fast. I’m kidding !” he adds, laughing when Seungkwan grabs a pillow to throw at him. “I mean, I don’t mind. Really.”

Seungkwan stares at him as he smiles widely, and suddenly, Hansol is overcome by a feeling of fondness so powerful he would be unable to tell if it is coming from himself only or not. His smile softens.

“I like the company,” he concludes, leaning back on his chair.

Seungkwan grins at him.

“Yeah. Me too.’

 

The clinking of chopsticks and glasses and chatter resonates so loud in Soonyoung’s ears it’s like he’s muted it already. It’s the first time they’re all out, all members of the crew and the technical staff and the loudness shouldn’t surprise him, nor the amount of space they take in the restaurant.  
Still, he thinks as he devours another mouthful of this Chinese dish he loves but can never remember the name of, he can’t help but feeling a bit jittery – both from giddiness and nervousness – sitting near so many people he’s only waved at so far. There’s this guy he met once late in the theatre a few weeks back, sitting right across him at the table -- Minghao, he thinks. They barely crossed paths ever since that weird evening, only nodded to each other a couple of times, and Soonyoung’s might be a bit unnerved to have Minghao’s golden, endless neck right in front of his eyes as the engineer intern laughs with his colleagues. Soonyoung can’t help but steal glances.

It’s nice, though, to hang out with the crew. They’ve created a real bond in the past few weeks, training and learning together as an ensemble, and Soonyoung is really looking forward to the day they will start actually distributing the roles. He’s got a few ideas himself already, and he tells Victoria as much – that’s how they all ended up calling Son Qian somehow –, who is sitting beside him. She laughs and glances at him, mischievous. Her cheeks are rosy with heat and alcohol.

“You’d be a great Fiero, you know,” she tells him cheekily, leaning a bit on his shoulder.

Soonyoung laughs and punches her lightly.

“Pfft stop joking. I’m the choregrapher, I don’t act.”

Vic raises her eyebrows, still smiling.

“I’m just saying. You could be.”

Soonyoung snorts again and downs the rest of his drink. People near him start saying goodbye and leaving, and he glances at the clock. He groans.

“Ugh. D’you think I could sleep backstage in the building back at the theater ?” he asks, pouting. He scrunches up his nose. “At this time, it’ll take me longer to go home then back here than the numbers of hours of sleep I’ll get.”

Victoria smiles at him, compassionate, and Soonyoung is two seconds from starting to whine – he’s had more alcohol than he should have had, okay.

“Why ?” a voice suddenly asks, quiet and firm, and Soonyoung turns to discover Minghao, staring intently at him from the other side of the table. He didn’t even notice the other was listening.

“Oh, hum,” he stutters, taken aback. “I live in the suburbs and it takes me a while to get there by bike.”

“Why are you taking the bike and not the train ?” Minghao asks, his eyes intent.

“Because it’s cheaper,” Soonyoung mumbles.

“Then why aren’t you living closer ?” Minghao insists, staring right at Soonyoung.

Soonyoung fidgets before answering, defensive.

“… Because it’s cheaper.”

Minghao doesn’t answer for a while, and Soonyoung is starting to feel itchy, bad and judged, when Minghao starts speaking again.

“My roommate left for Korea a month ago, so my apartment has a free room and I’m looking for a new roommate,” Mingao says almost brusquely. “The rent is pretty cheap, the landlord is a family friend. It’s not that far from the theater.”

Soonyoung blinks at him, and he thinks he understands what that means but that was so convoluted somehow that he is not entirely sure he’s not reading too much into it.

“You can take the room if you want to,” Minghao further explains, looking like he’s two seconds from rolling his eyes.

“I, hum ...” Soonyoung hesitates, looking around to avoid Minghao’s terrifying yet beautiful face.

It’s so out of the blue, and they barely know each other, and the way Minghao offered sounds like the least thing he wants is for Soonyoung to accept; maybe he just threw that offer out to be nice but he doesn’t actually want Soonyoung as a roommate—they don’t even know each other, hell, he can’t even speak Chinese, that’d be too awkward, and there are so many reasons Soonyoung should say no. He feels himself start sweating, averting his eyes; he really can’t make decisions on the spot.

“Hum,” Soonyoung starts. “It’s very nice of you, but I ...”

He breathes in.

“I’d be glad to have that room !”

Soonyoung freezes. Those are not the words he meant to say, but he said them, except he didn’t really.  
He stares in shock as the person he met in the streets a few days ago, the beautiful one with the long hair and the flustering smile, appears out of nowhere next to him – but it feels like they were always there – and answers to Minghao instead of him, except Soonyoung somehow knows that it’s still him who’s answering and oh god this is too much.  
Minghao doesn’t seem to react or even see, his lips curving in a small smile at Soonyoung’s (or the other person’s ?) response.

“Cool,” Minghao says. “You should give me your number so I can give it to my landlord.”

Soonyoung watches as the other enthusiastically recites Soonyoung’s number – how do they even know it ? Soonyoung wonders – and smiles blindingly at Minghao. He can’t even comprehend what is happening, what he is feeling – it’s like he is watching someone do things but he is also doing those things, saying those words. He doesn’t exactly feel cut in half, or like he’s been pushed out of his body, no; it’s the opposite.  
He feels like his being has grown bigger, immensely so, but instead of feeling lost and separate, he feels grounded, and whole, more so than ever before. He feels like the other is not doing this instead of him, but it’s like they are doing it together, and his brain cannot even start to comprehend what is going on.

Soonyoung stands up abruptly, and Minghao stares at him with round eyes.

“I … have to go to the bathroom,” he stammers, then dashes towards the back of the restaurant.

He doesn’t check if the other is following him; he just knows they are.

As soon as he enters the small cabinet, he turns his head and feels his throat close – the other is here, smiling mildly, almost amused, watching him.

“How did you do that ?” Soonyoung asks, his legs jittery. “What are you doing here ? How did you even get here ? Why isn’t anybody saying anything ?”

He starts pacing, running his hand through his hair, feeling panic and dread coursing through his veins. He’s having trouble breathing.

“Hey, calm down there, it’s fine,” comes the airy voice of the other, and Soonyoung somehow feels immediately soothed and a bit calmer. “I told you before, you know ? I can psychic-travel to you ?” the other then adds, thoughtful. “And I think we also share bodies, too.”

Soonyoung stop to stare at them.

“So this is real then ?” he asks, breathing heavily. “This is really happening ? I am spiritually linked to you or some shit and magic exists ?”

“About that ...”

Soonyoung stops pacing and turns towards the other who isn’t even trying to hide the fact that they are deeply amused.

“I think it’s … more than just me.”

“What do you mean ?” Soonyoung wavers.

“I’m pretty sure we are more than two in this situation. Many more, actually.” They purse their lips pensively. “I’ve met … one, other than you ? Maybe two. But I feel like we’re still a lot more.”

Soonyoung feels his legs tremble – it’s a miracle they even supported him through all of this – and lets himself fall to sit on the closed toilet seat, elbows on his knees and head cradled in his hands. A few beats of silence pass; even the chatter from the restaurant has died down completely.

“Just. One question,” he starts, then licks his lips and looks up. “Why … why did you do that ? Come and accept Minghao’s offer. I was going to say no.”

“This was a golden opportunity, you were NOT going to refuse this !” the other immediately replies hotly. “If I have to sweat through your morning routes once again I swear I’ll make you shave your head in your sleep.”

Soonyoung blinks. Okay. He wouldn’t have pegged them to be this vehement. Duly noted. A few seconds pass before the other’s fierce gaze morphs into something sweeter, from whatever they read in Soonyoung’s face.

“I’m Jeonghan, by the way.” They smile, almost shy, and okay, all this is beyond weird and Soonyoung is only 70% convinced this is real and not the consequence of him breathing hallucinating gas somehow but one sure thing is: he is smitten.

 

Hansol thinks he’s been staring at the screen of his laptop for the better part of the last ten minutes when he realises he is and shakes himself out of it. He shakes his head and blinks, groaning. This assignment is not even that complicated, but he’s had so much trouble focusing on university-related stuff lately, it’s a pain for him to try and work for more than an hour.  
He groans and stretches, readjusting his laptop on his thighs. He considers texting Sarah or Hyunggu for a minute before throwing his phone out of his reach – he told his mother on the phone two hours ago he wanted to stop procrastinating and that wouldn’t be a good start to his new resolution. He decides instead to put on some music and fix himself a cup of coffee, more so for the purpose of taking a break than to replenish his energy.

He’s just put water to boil in the kettle, humming along the music coming out of his speakers, when he feels an almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere. He’s become quite familiar with the phenomenon these past few weeks, so he only suppresses a groan – he was really hoping to finish his assignment by tonight – before turning towards Seungkwan.

Except when he turns, it’s not Seungkwan he sees. It’s not even Wonwoo, who sometimes comes to listen to his Litt lectures, or Joshua who has visited him a couple of times. Instead, in the middle of his dorm room is standing a pouting man, silky black hair curling around his ears, arms crossed on a surprisingly large chest considering his short stature. He’s dressed like he wasn’t planning on seeing anyone today, or like he doesn’t care if he’s seeing anyone: oversized beige hoodie, black sweatpants and – Hansol grins at that – Gucci slippers.

“Would you stop listening to that crap ?” the guy starts without preamble, deep voice sounding annoyed but mostly tired. “I’m trying to work here.”

Hansol just grins.

“Oh, hi !” He waves. “I’ve seen you around before but it’s the first time you’re visiting me !”

“Yes, and it’s the last time,” the other retorts. “I don’t have time for this paranormal shit. Now stop listening to your shitty music and let me work in peace please.”

“Hey, take that back, in this house we don’t insult Diana Ross like that,” Hansol throws back, still grinning.

He meant that as a joke, but there’s a couple of seconds of silence during which the other looks mildly uncomfortable, and Hansol feels a mix of guilt, anxiety and remaining annoyance prickle at his fingertips.

“Whatever,” the other grunts. “Just—stop listening to music.”

And just like that, he disappears, without even saying his name. Hansol blinks at the newly empty space in his room, then smiles to himself.

Of course he doesn’t stop listening to music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My late ass doesn't deserve it but comments and kudos make my day and help a lot !!  
> find me on twitter @ coldartistg , come and talk if you want !!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and feedbacks are warmly welcomed !  
> Don't hesitate to hit me up on twitter @ coldartistg, I'll be delighted to talk about Seventeen, Sense8 or anything else, really.


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